


Affectionate Artists

by Needs_to_stop_looking_at_valves



Category: Clone High
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/F, First Kiss, Food, Food Issues, History Jokes, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Movie Reference, References to Depression, Trust Issues, got em, vincent feeling loved for once in his life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Needs_to_stop_looking_at_valves/pseuds/Needs_to_stop_looking_at_valves
Summary: Vincent, having suffered from too many absences, is forced to make his grade up by working in a school play, hosted by the famous Julius Caesar. Little did Vincent know, the romance was happening behind the scenes, and not with Catherine the great.
Relationships: Julius Caesar & Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Affectionate Artists

**Author's Note:**

> This is for @cookienerdzz on tumblr, as a Christmas gift! Please enjoy it, as I've researched, studied, and cried, for almost 15 hours over this. It was supposed to be just 3k. Then i decided to feed the gays, so here we are (parents are oc's made by me and cookie, everything else is canon).

“Mr.Sheepman?”

Vincent poked his head through the door as soon as Abe walked out. The odd sheep man sighed, before motioning Vincent to come on inside. Vincent walked in, shutting the door behind him.

“Ah, Vincent! There ya are! Take a seat for me, won’t ya?”

Vincent pulled one of the chairs from the desks, and put it in front of his desk. He sat down, lightly fidgeting with his fingers. No one at this school was really intimidated by authority, much less of a sheep man crossbreed, but Vincent was nervous. He wasn’t exactly here to be honored.

“I uh...take it this is about my grades.”

“Yeah! Not gonna lie to you champ, they aren’t lookin’ too good. You’re a smart kid, very creative too, can I ask what’s with the deal?”

Vincent rubbed the back of his neck, averting his gaze. Vincent hadn’t exactly been...okay as of late. He didn’t want to label it as depression (they all remembered what a social pariah Gandhi became, and that was with ADD. If they knew he had depression, they might avoid him like the plague, and he was unpopular as it was), but he wasn’t exactly feeling his best lately. He had gotten up some mornings, and just lacked the energy. Getting out of bed seemed like a chore, even taking a hot shower made him tired. His poor grandma understood and loved him too much, not pushing him to go to school. While it was sweet, and he appreciated it in his heart, he was regretting it now. He missed so much school, it was impossible to keep up with his studies. No, he didn’t think a piece of paper was too important, but it seemed to be a big deal for everything else out there. He hesitated, chest aching from the genuine concern in those sheepy eyes.

“I’ve been...sick, a lot. Look, there’s gotta be SOMETHING I can do. Please, if I fail highschool over this, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna have a dead end job, be lonely for the rest of my life, NEVER know true happiness underneath the judgmental eyes of society and-”

“Woah woah, calm down. I don’t need you to sum up my life.”

Sheepman sighed, scrambling as he tried to look for some paper. He found it, and gave it a look over.

“Well, you’re failing pretty bad. BUT I do know for a fact you actually take notes in class. So, if you can help the school out a bit, I’ll be swayed enough to make sure you pass.”

“So...like community service? Daily?”

“Well...I can see how that’d be a problem for you. So how about this, we give you one BIG thing, and that should suffice. Let’s see...here!”

Sheepman held out a piece of paper towards him, and he took it from his hoof hand (everyone was secretly creeped out by his hands, so many tried NOT to touch them). It was a shittly made poster for the latest school play, starring Julius Caesar. A ‘romance’ piece, done by a familiar man whore with an even sluttier ‘girlfriend’. Oh the stupid irony.

“A play?”

“Yes! As you can see, they don’t have artists for this little show they got goin’ on. So, if you’d be a peach and help them out, it’d benefit all of us!”

Vincent sat there, looking at the black and white monstrosity before him. He didn’t WANT to deal with the popular kids in the slightest, but he also didn’t want to fail. Not to mention the thought of them using fucking Crayola's to make backgrounds for scenes, honestly made him cringe. He groaned, lightly rubbing his face.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

Tomorrow was going to be a long, long day.

\-------------------------------------------------

Vincent sighed as he adjusted the strap on his backpack. He packed the essentials; sketch books, pencils, a few colored pencils, a sharpener, and an eraser. Yet, he still felt so unprepared. He looked up at the sign on the door. ‘Theatre club’. He was ready to deal with snooty prima donnas, or a bunch of jerks trying to use the club as a means of making out in between classes. He pushed past the door, finding a surprising amount of people going this way and that. Unless JFK wanted an orgy with Marie Curie, he assumed people were ACTUALLY working on this project. He took a step to the side upon someone flying past him, and in an attempt to avoid hitting someone else, accidently bumped into JFK. The well known Casanova peered down at him, and he peered up at him. JFK plucked him by his shirt collar, studying his face.

“What er uh, are you doing here?”

“Uh, Sheepman says I gotta help your guy’s play. So I’m uh...here. Can you put me down now?”

Vincent handed him the slip that stated so, only for JFK to immediately toss it to the side. He lifted his fist up, clearly ready to beat the snot out of him, before halting.

“Hold, dear companion!”

They both turned to look at Julius Caesar. He made his way over to them, hand placed on Kennedy’s shoulder. Caesar was almost as popular as JFK, and almost as much of a womanizing dick. JFK gave him a light shake, and Vincent felt the items in his backpack shake.

“He said Sheepman sent him here to help us with...er uh, what was it?”

“Uh, to help with the background settings. I was told you guys couldn’t get an artist.”

Caesar held onto his chin, scowling. He suddenly snapped his fingers, face lighting up.

“This is perfect! My fine follicled friend, do put him down, he’s now a part of our production!”

JFK clearly didn’t like the idea of this, but he huffed, letting him go. Granted it was ass first onto the hard floor, but it beat a fist to the face. Vincent grunted as he picked himself up.

“Well, great. I brought some stuff with me so I could get an idea of what you want. What play was this again?”

“Romeo and Juliet!”

Caesar lifted his hand and puffed out his chest, making Vincent groan. 

“A romance of the ages! A story of longing, of sorrow!”

“Of bangin’ broads!”

They high fived, and Vincent rolled his eyes. Whatever, all he had to do was paint, and get out of here, so he wouldn’t have to spend TOO much time with them. JFK didn’t stick around for much more, choosing to ‘chase some tail’ from some actress. On the plus side, it was an excuse to avoid everyone else, and get into a private room with Caesar (never thought he’d hear him say that). Caesar brought them to a small room, with but two chairs, and a small table in between. It seemed as if it was more of a recreational room more than anything. Caesar sat down, digging into the small chest that was right between the chairs.

“Come, sit! Would you like some soda? I also have juice boxes.”

“Uh...No thank you.”

Vincent had no idea why that offer made him uncomfortable, but it really did. Probably because a popular kid was being NICE to him. It felt so artificial, it was uncomfortable. The other shrugged, helping himself to a grape flavored drink. Vincent sat next to him, and dug into his backpack, pulling some stuff out and organizing his area.

“Okay so, let me get a feel for what you want. I haven’t actually read the story, so-”

“You haven’t read it?! It’s quite the piece, I assure you!”

Vincent, a bit in disbelief that this guy could even read, shrugged.

“I’ll make a note of that. Now, give me some settings here. I know it took place in the fifteen hundreds-”

“Between fifteen ninety five, and fifteen ninety seven. So people believe.”

“Right. So we can agree nothing modern.”

“Of course. What I really need, if I may, is some bold coloring. Something to clash against the whiteness of the traditional buildings.”

“Okay, I’m following.”

Vincent jotted down his words, as he had the tendency to get distracted if he wasn’t very interested in a project. Caesar nearly leapt out of his seat as he seemed stricken with an idea (funny, Vincent was convinced only people with brains could have those).

“Ah but kýrio piáto! The balcony scene with my Juliet! That is something we HAVE to get right! I need an ocean of beautiful botany, roses of any other names just as sweet!”

Vincent wished he could hide in his seat for the rest of his life. These past few minutes felt like hours, dealing with some theatre kid who had too much of mommy’s pocket backing him up.

“You mean...you want a foliage kinda background?”

“Yes! See, in the balcony scene, the way Juliet and Romeo profess their love for each other is striking, passionate! I need something to convey that!”

“Course, you don’t want it to take too much attention. If I give you something like scarlet roses, it’d be more of an eye sore than a background.”

“Oh, very excellent point! Would you do me the honors of showing me an example?”

“Uh, sure. Let me just…”

Vincent pulled up an example on his phone, merely for some reference, before starting to sketch. It was a small place on the paper, and while he wanted to start anew, he didn’t want to waste paper. He tried to keep calm as Caesar was suddenly standing next to him, still sipping on his juice box. He was studying his movements, and Vincent hated the sudden anxiety it filled him with. Vincent finished the sketch, and sat back to let Caesar get a good look.

“Well? How’s that?”

Caesar nibbled at the plastic straw, before pulling it away so he could speak.

“Could you give it a color perhaps?”

Vincent nodded, digging into his colored pencils. He wasn’t loaded, so he couldn’t go crazy, but he had a decent amount of pencils to work with. He picked the color, and started to add to it. It wasn’t hanging on a wall worthy, but it was an example of what he could do. He let him get a look at it again once it was more or less finished.  
“How’s this? I feel like this works best. Though I don’t know if I should go for a shade brighter.”

Caesar grumbled into the plastic, not seeming to want to respond to him directly. Vincent, definitely feeling uncomfortable now, decided to change the subject.

“So uh...who’s Juliet here?”

That seemed to snap him out of his weird trance, as the now empty juice box fell to the floor.

“Ah yes! Catherine the Great! I made the play, so you could assume how easy it was to give her the lead role. Ah, what a lovely, lovely woman she is. I still recalled the piece I wrote for her the day I met her. ‘By my troth, Catherine the Great, thou hast played with mine heart of stone, and yay, I hath returned but not my pyre’”.

Vincent pulled his notebook away, given the fact that his foot was suddenly at the table. At the very least, it’d be a better act that most things this school put on.

“You write a poem for those you bang?”

“I write poetry for those I woo! Everyone I’ve shared a night with, also had my heart in their hands. How could one NOT process their love in words sweet as the summer breeze?”

Vincent shoved his notebook in his bag, deciding he needed to be a bit anti social for the rest of the day.

“Right. Anyhow, I’m gonna take all of this as ‘I love your style, and I’m excited for the play’. I’ll do some research tonight, and I’ll come by tomorrow to get started on the backgrounds. This whole thing is when?”

“Two days.”

“Tw-”

Vincent couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Two days, to put ALL of this together? He contemplated telling him what an absolute fuckwhit this grape loving guy was, but decided against it. He was popular, and what mattered was that he helped in the play, not that he made this thing award winning. He finished putting his stuff away, and got out of the seat.

“Two days. Right, I got it. I can get a good amount of stuff done. I’ll see you tomorrow, Caesar.”

“Fare well, my miniature mutual!”

He should've been offended, but that was honestly a new one. He made his way past the doors, past the school grounds, and sighed as he finally lost sight of the place. High School was hell, and Vincent hated going. But it did make him appreciate coming home. The fall air whistled through the trees, the skies were cloudy but not droopy, and the leaves crunched ever so nicely under his feet. He felt his worries start at his chest, only for them to trickle down his feet, leaving a path of bad feelings on top of the sidewalk. Then he reached home. It wasn’t anything fancy, and he appreciated it. A small house, small yard, small set of stairs. He grabbed the keys from his pocket, and unlocked the door, helping himself inside.

“Vinny! Home so soon?”

Vincent ducked his head into the kitchen, smiling as he saw his grandma. Yes the clones all had foster parents, but Vincent really did see her as his true grandmother. Short, loving, and attentive to his needs. He felt bad, knowing how often he hated himself, while simultaneously knowing how much she loved him. He walked into the kitchen, trying to peer past her shoulders at what she was making. He was a short man, and she was just as much, pretty much requiring them to use stools. He chuckled.

“Yeah, I thought I’d have to be there longer, turns out that wasn’t the case. What are you making?”

“Just some chicken and apple bread pudding, I had a feeling you’d be hungry by the time you got home. You didn’t stop to eat anywhere, right?”

Vincent didn’t have a lot of motivation for things. Eating was one of them. He wasn’t starving himself by any means, but he definitely did skip meals. Instead of telling her however, he would just say he picked up food on the way home. He couldn’t do that to her, not today.

“No, I didn’t. And I’m actually REALLY hungry, so thank you.”

“Oh good. Now, you told me you have a BIG project to do, so go ahead to your room and get started, I’ll take you a plate once I’m done.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh wait, hold it!”

Vincent was about to go to his room, before she held onto his shoulder, and kissed the top of his head.

“I love you.”

“I...love you too.”

With a pat on the cheek giving him permission, he departed for his room at the top of the stairs. By which he meant the ladders to the attic. He was a small guy, and that was a rather large attic, so he chose to have a home up here (mainly so Oma could have her own bed for once). He shut the door behind him, and gave his neck a good crack. It felt good to be home. He threw his bag on the bed, and hopped in. SO much to plan, so little time. He took out his notebook, and started making notes on some ideas. Italy, two feuding, well off families, during the fifteen hundreds. Not too complicated. He was about to look up some more details on his phone, before he suddenly heard a knocking sound.

“What the hell?...”

He got up to inspect the sound, before turning to his window. Caesar was just. There.

“Oh my god what the-”

He dashed to the window to open it, seeing that the other had used a ladder to get up to him. Vincent motioned at the entire thing, completely confused. Caesar shoved a book in his hands.

“There you are, my petite pal! I figured giving it a good read would inspire you!”

“I...thank you? I really hate that you know where I live now-”

“Oh by the way, don’t start any work without me, if that’s alright with you!”

“What? Why?”

Caesar made a small motion of his hands, lightly cringing, before coming out with it.

“Your work is...not the best. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the help tremendously, but it’s, quite frankly, unoriginal. Don’t misunderstand, doing things like your clone parent is all well and good, but from the looks of all your sketches, that’s all you’re doing. I need something bold, something fresh and riveting! Not to mention the fact that the real Van goh’s work was...how to put it, rather sloppy. No real rhyme or reason to it, if you’d like me to be honest.”

Vincent just. Gawked at him. He wasn’t big on pride, but he knew when he was getting insulted, or when his clone father was getting insulted. Caesar didn’t seem to get that a red face, and teary eyes were a sign of anger, so he continued on.

“So, I would PREFER to monitor your work from here on in! Your backgrounds WILL play a huge part, I need to make sure they’re up to my standards!’

Caesar finally seemed to stop talking, smiling at him as if they had some nice little chit chat. Vincent however, was more of a man of action. That was why he pushed the other by his forehead, and shut the window. Just then, he heard a knock at his door. He answered the door, and there was his grandma, holding a tray of hearty food.

“I brought your dinner! I brought your bread pudding, some chocolate milk, and some orange slices! I know you’re working hard, so eat what you can!”

He took the tray from her, faking a smile. He told himself he was going to eat, but he found his stomach to be so queasy. When she left him with nothing more but a smile and kiss, he brought his food to his bed. Her cooking was great, and it smelled good, but he found himself too annoyed to eat. Too sad, too distressed, too upset. He had an amazing caregiver, and a shitty life. He hated doing this to her, really, but he couldn’t stomach it. He made an attempt to peck at the food, and even though he knew he needed it, he could get no more than a bite in. He opened his window, looked around, and dumped it. He did this when he couldn’t eat, but didn’t want to upset her. He’d dump the food into one bush, and the rodents or what have you would take care of it. Did it make him spoiled? Inconsiderate? Yes, and yes. But he knew he couldn’t make himself eat, and he knew he loved her too much to hurt her. So what choice did he have, ultimately? He put his empty plates on the tray, and was happy he could force himself to drink the chocolate milk. He set it to the side, and started reading the book, taking notes in between. He was at it for hours, and a little after she came in to wipe away his chocolate mustache, he found himself getting under the sheets.

Just two days, and he was done. Two more days.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

Vincent smiled as she handed him his usual morning toast. It was pretty much his only meal of the day, so he helped himself to a nice slather of butter, and a nice slather of apricot jam. He waved her goodbye as he walked on to school. He didn’t want to go in the slightest, but he really couldn’t afford another mental health day. He walked past everyone walking in around the same time as him, doing his usual dips and dives to avoid getting trampled. He was pretty good at that, having done that for all of his life. He found his way to his desk, finishing up the last piece of bread. Sheepman stood up, about ready to start the class, before the door opened. JFK.

“Hey er uh, I need the pipsqueak.”

“Which one? The bald one?”

“Uh...yeah.”

Whoever was with him smacked him against his arm, making him lightly swear.

“Er I mean, the red head.”

“Alright, Vincent, get goin’”

“W-don’t they need a slip or something?”

“Listen, I don’t want to be duct taped into silence for another reference again, so just go.”

God the teachers here sucked. He stepped out of the room, stuff in his hands, only to be swept up by JFK. Maybe pushing him yesterday wasn’t such a good idea. JFK took him to the same stage as last time, as well as the same room. He said not another word as he slammed the door, leaving him alone with the same guy he pushed off his ladder. He kept himself in a ball, and used his arms to cover his face. He waited a moment, before slowly uncovering himself. Caesar wasn’t looming over him in a threatening way, but more...curiously.

“What are you doing?”

“You're...not gonna hurt me?”

“No? I just wanted to talk to you! You see, I talked to my mother about this, and I had come to the realization that I was rather rude. While I meant what I said, I could’ve said it in a way that honors you both.”

Vincent, upon seeing the random act of kindness, found himself more upset than anything. He stood up, and pointed a finger at him.

“You think that’s all it’s gonna take? You offended not just me, but HIM. You don’t think that matters to me? To a LOT of us?”

Caesar held his hands up in defense, almost puzzled by the sudden display of aggression. He took a moment to find his words, before they slowly lulled out of his mouth.

“I...didn’t think about it, honestly. You see, I don’t...have a strong attachment to my clone father. He was full of himself, completely egotistical and heavy handed. I didn’t want to be like that. So I found myself not caring. I forgot that this is a burden that hangs heavy on others. So I apologize if I honestly hurt you, Vincent. If you’d accept my apology, I’d love to put this behind us. I understand I hurt you, and you have the right to be upset. However, we ARE working together for the time being. Why have sour wine,”

He held out one of his hands to his, and gave an awkward smile.

“When we can make something far sweeter?”

Vincent really didn’t want to shake his hand. But he had a feeling he was honestly sorry. The way his vocabulary died down a bit, the way he kept his tone casual, rather than boisterous. Vincent sighed, and shook his hand.

“Okay, fine. Water under the bridge.”

The look on his face was priceless. He was beaming, and seemed happy enough to lift him clean off the floor.

“Ekpliktikós! Now, let’s get started on that play, shall we?”

Vincent was hauled off to another room. This one was full of large canvases, and plenty of buckets of paint. Caesar put him down, and motioned towards it all.

“This is YOUR stage! Isn’t it exciting?”

“I...wow. There’s a lot of supplies here.”

“But of course! I wanted you to have ample opportunity to make my play PERFECT!”

Perfect. That word really got under his skin, ever since the other night. Caesar seemed to notice his hesitation, and genuinely frowned.

“I...I’m sorry, really, about how I put it. Your art is not faulty, but my standards are-”

“No, no. I understand what you’re saying. I mean, I was mad about it, but I thought about it. You might be onto something, in a way. Figured we’d brainstorm ideas, but I’m sure you’re busy with everything-”

“Oh nonsense! Catherine has most of it, being the leading lady, I have all the time in the world to assist!”

Caesar pulled one of the large canvases forward, and gestured to the blank space.

“So, where are we starting?”

Vincent had to admit, his enthusiasm was a bit contagious. He set his stuff down, and slowly approached the canvas. It was the only thing bigger than him, that caused him no fear. He was the one in control of something so huge, it made him feel powerful. He looked through the MANY buckets of paint, before snapping his fingers.

“Right, let’s get some of the basics down. That way, when we get to the balcony scene, we’ll have more time for that.”

The first one he wanted to be done was a couple of basic buildings. He motioned towards the blue one, and Caesar seemed more than ready to help. Caesar of course, couldn’t keep quiet for too long.

“Why are you using blues and purples for these?”

“The lightning is going to make it pop more. Plus, they’re the colors I’m most comfortable with.”

“You tend to stick in your comfort zone, don’t you?”

“You tend to act like you know me, olive boy.”

He had no idea why he had suddenly said that. He was usually far more reserved, far more withdrawn. He was expecting whiplash, only for Caesar to chuckle.

“That’s a new one! Chip away at the shell, supposed I deserved that one!”

There was something...weird about the way he smiled. Vincent grumbled, lightly pulling at the gauze around his face, in order to cover his suddenly flushed features. Caesar must be just playing him. There had to be SOMETHING he was hoping to get from him, aside from the painting. He stopped painting arches as soon as he felt his face stopped being red. He looked over at Caesar, who looked ready to hand him another bucket of paint.

“Why are you doing that?”

“What? Aren’t you going to need more paint?”

“No, I mean why are you being nice? You’re popular, you guys don’t act nice to people like me. You haven’t even made fun of my height! JFK has a whole book on names he’s called me for that alone!”

Caesar looked perplexed, shrugging.

“I have no reason to be so rude. You’re helping me, why would I be so foul? Besides, height is crude humor. A man should be judged in passion, not by how much help he needs reaching the top shelf.”

Caesar made a motion to another paint can, silently asking if he needed that one next. Vincent nodded, and they fell into silence. Vincent painted, Caesar watched and inspected. Vincent kept trying to find some other style in the mix of all of this, but it was difficult. Caesar kept peering over him, asking him random questions, and he kept...touching him. It wasn’t a mean or a scary touch, but it was contact. Sometimes he’d lean over him to get a better look at a certain brush stroke, pressing his front against his own back, and even occasionally grabbing his wrist to see where his painting was going. His hands felt...soft. Not like a ladies obviously, but they didn’t hurt, they didn’t make him feel bad. It was annoying, and clearly an invasion of privacy, but he’d much prefer this over getting them balled up and in his face.  
It wasn’t a bad painting session honestly. He was in the middle of finishing a wall of green vines, when a loud beeping sound startled him. Caesar reached his hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone.

“My, noon ALREADY!”

“Really? It’s been four hours already? Doesn’t feel like it.”

“I agree. The hands of time truly move to their own whimsy. What do you feel like for lunch? Chicken? Turkey clubs?”

“Oh I’m uh...not hungry.”

“Nonsense! You need to eat. What’s something you like?”

“I...like bread, I guess? Eating isn’t my thing.”

“I know just what to get you, give me a moment.”

He started to text on his phone, and Vincent shrugged. He kept painting, really trying to get into the details of the background. Caesar disappeared in the middle of it all, only to come back, bags of food in his hands.

“Alright, my petite painter! Break time!”

Vincent really didn’t want to stop for food. He hated eating in general, let alone eating at school, let alone eating in front of a popular kid. He tried to dive in for another paint brush, before he suddenly had a pizza box shoved into his face. Vincent looked up at him, and he made an effort to scowl, before groaning.

“Really, thank you, this was nice, but I-”

“How do you expect to put your soul into a piece if you do not feed it?”

He wished he had some smart retort for that. Not having anything, he put the paintbrush down, and used a hand wipe to peel paint away from his palm. He lifted the box open, and peeled a slice away from the rest of the pie. He inspected it, not able to detect what was underneath all the thick crust, and even thicker layers of cheese.

“What’s in this one?”

“Three meats, extra cheese. I also got breadsticks, garlic parm wings, grape soda, and the...cinnamon loaded thing.”

Vincent looked through all the food in the bag. Must’ve been good if he ordered so much of it. They both tucked into their slices of pizza. There was a silence as they ate, before Caesar cut it.

“This is actually awful.”

“I didn’t want to be rude and say it, but yeah this is garbage. Hope you didn’t spend too much on it.”

“It was free for me. I get to eat free there, given the fact that they use my likeness as their mascot.”

Vincent looked at the box, then at him. He did several takes, taking another bite of pizza.

“That’s...something I can never unsee. Oh my god.”

“Handling it better than Kennedy. He STILL takes selfies whenever he walks by the place.”

“How do you feel about the ‘pizza pizza’ slogan?”

“Terrible, I hate that I had to do that.”

Vincent reached for another piece of pizza, before pausing.

“You. You actually do that voice?”

“Yes, and I hate it. Hell hath no fury like my own hatred for little Caesars.”

Vincent gazed up at him, and he stopped midway through his third slice. He raised a brow at the smaller man.

“What?”

“Can...can I hear it?”

“No. Never.”

He kept his gaze upon him, and Caesar tried to ignore him. By the time he got to the crust however, he realized he couldn’t let up. He put the pizza down in the box, and swallowed. He looked ready to die, before he just decided to bite the bullet.

“Pizza Pizza!”

“Oh. My god. There’s NO editing in it?!”

“Unfortunately not. That’s all me, and I hate it. Don’t ever ask me to do it again please, it’s a mockery of my talents.”

Vincent tried to stifle his laugh, but he was struggling. He tried muffling it with his hands, but it was spilling out of him like water, and before he knew it, he was on the floor, laughing himself enough to hurt. Caesar took it well, cheeks slightly red in embarrassment, but not saying much else. He instead chose to stuff his face with breadsticks, letting Vincent wear himself out. When Vincent finally recovered, he sat up, wiping the tears out of his eye.

“I’m s-so sorry, that was just honestly SO funny. I’m not trying to make fun of you, honest.”

“It’s quite alright. All things considered, it IS a bit amusing.”

Caesar took a swig of the soda, and clearly wasn’t expecting Vincent’s question.

“Why DID you do it if you like nothing about it?”

Caesar took a moment to think. He was usually a walking thesaurus, but words seemed to be difficult for this sort of question. 

“It was back when I thought my clone father was a big thing. I wanted to be that proud, influential figure he was. So I got into acting. I accepted any roles I could, wanting my picture all over, much like how he had statues everywhere. Unfortunately, they only wanted me for this. So, I did it. I’m over that dream now, but hey, free food never hurt anyone. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m quite the gourmand.”

He gave his chubby stomach a pat, before tucking into another breadstick. Vincent didn’t really think about it, but it was sort of cool, that Caesar was choosing his own influence, and doing something he really wanted to do, like this play. Vincent was about to prod further, honestly interested in WHAT made him change his mind, before Caesar motioned towards one of the now empty pizza boxes.

“You’re quite the connoisseur yourself! That’s four slices! Even Kennedy gets full at that many slices.”

Vincent hadn’t realized it, but he had in fact, eaten that many pieces of awful, greasy pizza. He didn’t remember feeling that full. He felt tired, and his stomach hurt, but in a way, it made him happy. Caesar chuckled at his confusion, mildly patting the top of his head.

“I’m glad you seemed to have some sort of appetite! You look close to wasting away, my merry marigold!”

Vincent felt heat rise to his cheeks, and he couldn’t help but cover his face again. He knew his grandma Oma cared for him, but to have someone else SEEM to care? It...sort of hit differently. Caesar checked his phone, before starting to collect all the trash.

“Well, this was a fun endeavor! It was lovely to work with you, my diminutive dauber! I’m looking forward to watching the final product, but I have a date to attend to. Keep it up, I expect great things!”

Caesar took everything, and walked out of the door. Vincent stayed there painting for about another hour, but he was ashamed to admit that he was slow going. He found himself energized, but distracted. He found his lines and his curves not following him as he recalled just how much he learned of Caesar. He had the sneaking suspicion that Caesar might be fudging the truth in some places, or might even be lying all together. But he sounded so honest, and so heartfelt. The way he briefed over his story of his clone father, the way he fed him and showed concern for him, as well as his work. He shook his head, and found himself picking up sooner than he would’ve liked. Yes he’d have to do more work tomorrow, but he couldn’t stand how foggy his head had become. His usual walk home helped some, but it didn’t bring him full clarity. He was so lost in his thoughts, he almost didn’t hear Oma calling him from the kitchen. 

“Vinny, there you are! How was school?”

“Good, honestly.”

He peered over her shoulder, relieved to see that she wasn’t making dinner, but some lemon tea. She leaned over to peck his head, before returning to her cup of tea.

“Good to hear! Now while I have you, what did you want for dinner? You want to just reheat what we had yesterday?”

He tried to ignore the guilt in his gut that he had from that. He knew she put her heart into making it.

“I uh...ate before I got here actually. I wasn’t going to, but someone at school bought me food, and it felt rude to say no. I’m pretty full, honestly.”

The look on his grandma’s face could part the clouds on the rainiest of days. She softly cupped his face in her hands, giving him a light squish. 

“Oh look at you! My little Vinny, making a new friend! Oh don’t you worry about dinner then, I can share with the neighbors. Now go finish your project upstairs, I’ll be up to send you a cup of tea.”

He nodded at her request, allowing himself to be hugged before going back up to his room. He had a repeat of yesterday; taking notes on what to focus on, and what colors he should use. Vincent found himself struggling with this, debating on what style he should do. Caesar said his style was unoriginal, but it was the same as THE Vincent Van Gogh. Who wouldn’t want that?

“I think...maybe me.”

Vincent was suddenly so concerned with his own style. So worried about what he should and shouldn’t paint. Did it matter? It was just some play by some popular kid who could be lying out of his ass. At the same time though, Vincent was concerned he was serious. He respected art in all of it’s forms, and he was so worried he could be letting someone down. Letting someone honest and real down. He was knocked out of his thoughts as Oma walked in, tray in her hands. A cup of tea, some slices of oranges, and chocolate covered grapes. She placed the tray next to him, and was ready to leave, before he found himself speaking up.

“Oma?”

“Yes?”

“I kinda had a question. I’m wondering if my art style is...good.”

She frowned at him, as if she was heart broken.

“Oh sweetie! Of course it is! It’s very lovely!”

“But is it...good. I’m so close to the original’s, that I’m debating if it’s right. Someone...who I’m not sure I trust, told me I need to be more...me.”

She nodded slowly in understanding, before sitting down on his bed, and holding him in her arms.

“I understand what you mean. But Vincent’s art style wasn’t JUST broad paint strokes and lovely colors. His art style spoke what was in his heart. He was a humble, lovely man who cared terribly for what he felt was right. So if you feel as though that style is right, then it’s right. If you feel as though you have something more and new to offer, then do that. Does that make sense?”

Vincent thought about it, and nodded. Oma had studied his work back in her youth, and she knew his clone father more than anyone in this entire city. He looked up at her, and against what he told himself a day ago, he decided to invite her.

“Oma, I uh...I’m actually working on paintings for a play. It’s the day after tomorrow, would you uh...like to come see it?”

She nodded without even thinking, pinching his little cheek and kissing his forehead.

“I would LOVE to, honey! Oh this means I get a chance to wear that dress I bought myself last week! Oh, I’m so proud of you! Let me let you work, I’m going to get my outfit ready!”

She patted his head, before leaving the room, heading to her own. He sighed, and enjoyed all the snacks she brought him, not tossing a single thing out the window. His stomach wasn’t happy at the sudden influx of food, but dammit he couldn’t do it to her, not today. He stayed up far longer than he intended, planning and testing different methods and styles. He couldn’t pinpoint just what style he wanted, because none could seem to make him happy. After hours upon hours of struggling and testing, he gave up for the night, shielding himself with his blankets. He hated the fact that he wasn’t happy with his work. He hated the fact that he couldn’t find his own style. He hated the fact that he wanted to make Caesar happy.

\-----------------------------------------------

Caesar tossed in his bed. It was still early in the morning, far earlier than he was used to being up. His mind had been plagued with thoughts, and his stomach had been churning like a furious sea storm. He had no idea why those paintings kept flooding into his mind. Maybe he was just worried about the play. Maybe he was just worried about his performance, maybe he was just worried as to whether or not this would actually woo Catherine the great. Yeah, maybe that was it. He was just worried about her. He forced himself out of bed, and went into his bathroom, washing his face, and brushing his teeth. Whatever he was worried about, couldn’t stand a chance against a little self care. After making sure he looked presentable (Including his all too familiar wreath), he made his way down the stairs, into the kitchen. He peered past the island, watching as their outdoor pool was being cleaned. Though the pool boy was clearly distracted, and he could see why. His mom’s were currently having a cutey moment, distracting the pool boy. He sighed, and lightly nudged Rose on her shoulder. Their clothes were slightly askew, and their faces were flushed. 

“Oh sweetie you’re up already-”

“Think you two need a new pool boy.”

They all turned to look outside, and the pool boy suddenly had his attention back at the pool. Iris sighed, brushing her blonde hair back into place.

“Should’ve gone with what Carl recommended.”

She walked to the window, and threw a heap of warnings at him, in what Caesar could only assume was French, before she slammed the glass screen shut. Rose sighed, nearly swooning at her expressive wife. She lightly patted her boy on his shoulder.

“Now, why are you up so early, my little thespian?”

“I found myself unable to sleep. I’m...a bit worried about the play, honestly.”

“Is that because of that Catherine girl?”

Iris scoffed as she dug into the fridge. She never liked Catherine, ever since he brought her home that one time. His mother Rose had no issue with her, but hey one out of two isn’t bad. Caesar shrugged, scratching at his back, in some means to disperse his squirmy energy.

“I believe so. I’m worried about whether my performance will suffice, I’m worried if the art pieces will be to my standards, it’s a lot for me to handle. And I have but a day left to prepare!”

Rose held his face, kissing his cheek affectionately.

“My little actor, have no fear! It’s nothing but the first play jitters!”

She brushed her strawberry blonde behind her ear, trying to convey that she understood his feelings.

“I swear to you, you’ll have it. You’re THE Julius Caesar! You can do anything you set your mind to. Besides, we’re going to be with you whenever you need it!”

Caesar was about to respond, before Iris slammed the fridge door, put some stuff on the table, and puffed out her chest.

“Puff out your chest. Speak loudly, speak clearly. That's all there is to it. That and maybe replace the leading lady, but-”

“Mother.”

“What? I’m just saying, I’d love to take her place.”

“Mom, I kiss the leading lady at the end.”

“And? You act like I’m not gonna kiss MY baby!”

Before he knew it, she held his face, and started peppering him with kisses. He loved his mother, but what teenager wanted their faces to be covered in mommy’s lipstick? He grumbled, trying to escape her grip. She wasn’t much taller than him, but she was plenty strong. She let go of him when she seemed to have enough. Rose scowled at her, seeming to try to help him adjust his hair back into place.

“Iris, please! You can’t baby him like that. At least, not without me getting a turn!”

They both held his face, smooching the hell out of him. He groaned under the barrage of affection, feeling almost smothered. His mothers were always this affectionate, and he was still not used to it. 

“Mothers, please!”

“Okay, okay Iris enough, poor boy.”

They both chuckled as they left Caesar there, rubbing at his lipstick marks all over his face. Rose organized the food at the counter, being pretty much the only one who cooked around here.

“Anyhow, who's ready for a big breakfast? I made a big crock pot full of oatmeal, let me get you two a bowl.”

Caesar was thankful one of his moms knew how to cook, because he was starved. He helped himself to a hearty bowl of oatmeal, topped with a fried egg with bacon, and bid his mothers farewell as he walked to school. Usually they drove him, but he was up far earlier than usual, so he knew he had the time. His mind was littered in thoughts as the fall wind blew through his hair. Maybe his parents were right, and he was just over thinking things. He was going to do fine, and Catherine the great was going to be swept off her feet. 

“Didn’t know the school could be so quiet.”

He walked past the front doors, and aside from the principal and his robot butler doing their usual shenanigans, there seemed to be not a soul around here. He made it to the theatre stage, and after double checking that they had all the props together (JFK had been a surprising help in this whole endeavor), he made it to the painting room. He figured the least he could do was organize the inevitable mess from the night before, less it became a bigger mess later on. He walked into the room, stopping as soon as he saw someone else was in here. Vincent. Vincent had seemed to be here for a while, as his jacket was off, and all of him was covered in paint. He turned to see him, and gave a mild wave, before continuing on the canvas.

“Caesar, didn’t expect you here so early. I’ve been here for about an hour now, actually.”

“Just...painting?”

“Yeah. I had issues sleeping last night, so I was up for a while, trying out new styles. I know you don’t paint without you seeing it, but I had to try it on a big canvas, versus my sketchbook. So you can tell what this is, right?”

“It’s...act one, scene three, where the nurse and Lady Capulet speak to Juliet about her marriage to Paris. It doesn’t look like your usual style, though.”

Caesar looked over his shoulder, studying the piece. It was a simple scene, but it was handled with such care, such affection. It was as if the simple bedroom scene was something special to him, something personal. His brush strokes were still thick, but the colors felt more controlled, more relaxed somehow. The purple from the bed curtains, the deep brown colors from the wood of her bed, it was breathtaking. It was both original, and unoriginal, in a way that Caesar couldn’t explain. Far more controlled, not as many messy paint strokes where it wasn’t needed. It looked patient, content. Vincent didn’t move away as Caesar practically leaned on him. He gestured to the canvas, looking up at him, face nearly beaming with pride.

“I’m not sure if it’s an official style, but I was genuinely thinking about what you said, about changing style. I didn’t use purely oil as a medium either, I actually experimented with chalk pastels! I feel like it makes some things a little softer, and helps with the contrast of the oil colors! It also helps with some of the outside scenes, because the powder affect looks great with the dirt and-you okay?”

Caesar had realized he had been gawking at him as he was ranting. He had no idea why, but there was something...beautiful, about the way he spoke. The way his face lit up, the way his hands motioned and flowed across the piece to show him what he meant. He cleared his throat, getting off the little one’s back.

“Yes, sorry, I was...thinking about the balcony scene, that’s all. I must say, I’m surprised you took my words to heart! I thought I offended you.”

“Well, you did, a little, but you had a point. Things change, and I can’t be the same Van Goh as he was. I might as well be...me.”

Vincent chuckled, as if just now coming to that realization, before he went back to the canvas.

“Anyhow, I have a good chunk of the scenes done, I’m just touching some stuff up. I’m excited honestly!”

“I can tell! You’re nearly leaping for joy, my contented creator!”

Vincent smiled at him, showing his glee by showing him more paintings. They all looked lovely, each full of love and appreciation. They needed some touching up, but Caesar could tell Van Goh was putting his heart into his work. He let Vincent go on in his excitement, but Caesar had turned his head, catching one piece in the corner of his eye. He walked to it, starting to tug at the sheet covering it, before Vincent dashed over to him, ramming into his side.

“Hey hey hey! Not that one! You can’t see that one!”

Caesar raised a brow as Vincent kept reaching up for the sheet. He was so proud of them not even a minute ago, why the sudden bout of secrecy.

“Whatever for? The other’s held such pride, why does this one hold secrecy?”

Vincent rested his chin on his gut, grumbling like a spoiled child.

“It’s the balcony scene, and the one I’m spending the most amount of time on. I don’t want you to see it until it’s done.”

“What for?”

“I...I want it to make you happy. You seem genuinely excited to do this, and...well, I felt bad. I judged you a lot because you were popular, and I wasn’t taking this seriously initially. But you’re really an artist in your own right, so I wanna help you. You deserve to have something more than just a brand deal, Jules.”

Caesar felt his breath hitch upon seeing his smile. He always followed the idea of Vincent being the small, sad painter, so much so that seeing him smile at him like so honestly flabbergasted him.

“I...thank you. And you can keep calling me that, if you wish.”

“Only if you keep calling me ‘miniature mutual’, kinda like that one.”

“Sounds like quite the deal.”

He patted his head, and covered the painting back up. Vincent held onto his hand, pulling him towards another painting. He sat there with him for quite some time, watching him paint. He hadn’t noticed it the day before, but here, he noticed the way Vincent painted. Noticed the way the paints smudged on his hands. The way he’d explain the reason he used charcoal for some of the shadows, the way he’d keep smudging paint over his red scruff, even the way he’d reach on his tippy toes to reach corners. He found himself so...fascinated by the little man. He held so much passion, so much fervent drive, Caesar could only wish his own performances held so much gusto. Their time was interrupted as someone poked their head into the door. Marie Curie. 

“Hey Caesar? Catherine wanted me to get you, something about an issue with the clothes. I offered her some help, but she was pretty adamant on having me call you.”

“Ah, I see. Thank you, my dutiful dame. My little lily, do let her know if you need anything, I will try to be back as soon as I can.”

He walked out of the room, ignoring all the busywork going on beside him. The whole session with Vincent had taken far more time than he planned, but he couldn’t help it. First it was him being worried about the play. Then, he was fascinated by...something. Something inside of him was screaming to go back and spend more time with him. He pushed that feeling down as he neared her dressing room. He didn’t have to even the door, given the fact that grinning (and for some reason shirtless) JFK was dashing out of her room. He chose not to question it, and let himself inside of her dressing room. Catherine was a beautiful woman; hair golden and bright like a field of wheat, lips flushed and pink like a rose, and eyes that drew you in like a moth to flame. She struggled with her lopsided attire, frowning. 

“Oh my god, Jules, It’s about time you here! So like, this outfit does NOTHING for me here.”

Caesar raised a brow, not seeing much of a problem.

“Whatever is wrong with it, my charismatic Catherine?”

“I’ve got NO leg going on! My tits are like, super covered, and white makes ME look whiter. It kinda sucks.”

“It IS accurate for the time, my dear daisy. Besides, this play is about US, not just on your appearance.”

She scoffed, and made her way to her vanity, touching up her smudged looking lips.

“Caesar, babe, listen to me for like two seconds. No one is gonna watch this show if I’m not looking FINE.”

“And what of my acting?”

She scoffed, touching up her eyeliner in the mirror.

“Yeah, no. No one shows up for your acting, unless you go shirtless. Maybe if JFK goes shirtless, honestly. But yeah, I need a change in dress, babe.”

Caesar gave a slow nod, as if carefully considering her words. He loved her, loved the way she looked, loved the way she gave him attention, but...she didn’t seem to have the same drive as he did. The same passions. It made her look no less beautiful, but it did make her look different in his eyes.

“Yes well, talk to our stagehand, order whatever you’d like, and I’ll make it happen.”

“Great, looking forward to it, babe.”

He sighed, and walked out of the room. His timing was impeccable, seeing Vincent leave the room the same time as he did. Caesar was tempted to just go and check the paintings, before he chose to go to the man himself. He caught up to him, suddenly sticking to his side.

“My miniature muse! Take it you’re done?”

“For today, yeah. I’ll be doing some touch ups the day of, but everything is more or less done. Why, did you need something?”

He thought about it, before nodding.

“Yes, actually. I’d like to walk you home.”

The small man cocked his head to the side, seeming to be confused.

“Uh...I mean, you CAN I guess, but what for?”

Caesar realized he didn’t have a good reason. He just didn’t want to be here at this school, didn’t want to be near anyone else but Vincent right now. He rubbed the back of his neck, mentally fumbling, before he thought up a rather decent lie. 

“Uh, Kennedy and the other’s were planning on beating you up, and while it’d be amusing to a degree, I need you for painting. So, just to make sure you get home safely.”

Vincent shrugged, before motioning for him to follow.

“Alright, I’ll lead the way.”

Ceasar couldn’t begin to explain the feeling that washed over him. He usually enjoyed the walks on his way home or around the city, but this was different. Something about the fact that he had to go far slower than usual, something about the way Vincent gazed upon the world around him. It was an enhancing of an experience. Vincent stepped over a crack, clearly knowing the street well.

“So, what did he plan this time around? Swirlies? Wedgies?”

“I dunno, I heard he was going for the dreaded purple nurple tactic.”

“Ah. Guess I really need you here to protect me then, so than- wait wait wait.”

Vincent grabbed onto his hand, forcing him to halt. Caesar looked at him, and followed his hand motion to lower to his level. Caesar carefully got on one knee in front of him (his mom was going to kill him for sullying his new pair of paints), and watched as Vincent slowly approached him. His face but an inch from his own, before his hands slowly slipped into his hair. His fingers were so small, so soft. The touch was subtle, and brief. Vincent pulled a leaf from his head, looking at it in almost fascination.

“This leaf is perfect! I was so scared you’d move too fast and accidentally step on it. My Oma loves the paintings I do with these things.”

“Your Oma?”

“Yeah, she’s my foster mom. Well, she’s more of a grandma more than anything. And your foster parents?”

“Two moms. They put a lot of money into the school's theatre club.”

“Oh are those the same ladies that I saw at the parent teacher conference?”

“Quite.”

“Didn’t. Didn't one of them keep trying to grab the other’s butt-”

“Yes, don’t remind me, I hate remembering that.”

Caesar turned the corner with him, taking a moment to look around. It looked different from the front, rather than on the ground and looking up at the window. He walked Vincent to the front door, and stood in front of him. Vincent twisted and twirled the leaf in his hand, even as he continued to talk.

“Thanks, Jules. I appreciate the walk home, think I got it from here though.”

Caesar chuckled, eyes too focused on how the orange of his leaf suited with the orange of his hair.

“I don’t know, the journey does seem rather long. How dare I leave you out here to fend for yourself?”

They both seemed to share a chuckle at that, locking their eyes onto each other. There was something before them, but they couldn’t see it. Something so obvious, yet it evaded them. Caesar would give anything to know just what that thing was. The door suddenly opened, with a small, plump old lady standing there. She chuckled softly into her palm.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, am I interrupting you, Vinny?”

“Oh my god- no, Oma. Caesar was just walking me hom-”

“THIS is your Oma? Vincent, you mini minx! You didn’t tell me you had such a fine woman living at your home. Oma, was it? I’m Caesar, Julius Caesar. It is an absolute pleasure, my fair lady.”

He knelt down low, took her hand, and kissed the back of it. Her face grew flushed, and she lightly fanned at her poor, sweet face.

“Oh! Vinny, you didn’t tell me your new boyfriend was such a handsome little charmer!”

Vincent, clearly embarrassed, tried to hide his gaze in his gauze.

“Oma I’m just gonna...go up to my room. Thanks, Jules.”

Vincent dashed past her to get into the house, making them both chuckle. The old lady chuckled, lightly tapping the top of his hand.

“Would you like to come inside for dinner? We have plenty of food!”

“I’d love to, but I’m supposed to be home in time for supper, not to mention I have a big play going on-”

“Oh is that the play going on tomorrow? Little Vinny invited me to go, and I’m just as excited as he is! Oh is that how you two met? How cute! Here, since I can’t get you to stay, let me give you something for the walk home. Wait right here!”

She ducked into the kitchen, and came back out in a moment, handing him a plastic cup of steaming food.

“It’s dutch potatoes. You’re a growing boy, you need the vitamins. Now, do know you can come back at any time, I’ll have a meal waiting for you!”

“Thank you, ma’am-”

“No no, please. Call me Oma! Have a safe walk home, honey! Tell your mothers I said hello!”

She gave him a little wave, before closing the door. He looked into the cup, watching the steam slowly roll out of the cup, and into the air. He started to walk off, digging into his starchy surprise. Bacon, onions, and potatoes. It was a simple dish, but it made him feel warmth akin to being hugged. He soon made it to his house, and let himself into his front door, still munching on his potatoes as he made his way to the kitchen. His parents were at the dining room table, writing and reading to one another. They were married with a child, but it did nothing to stop their career, nor their love for one another. Iris finally noticed him, giving him a small wave as he approached them. She scooped the potatoes from him, seeming to help herself. Rose sighed, adjusting her reading glasses.

“Where did you go after school?”

“I walked a friend home. His foster parent gave me that.”

“It’s genuinely SO good?”

She mumbled, really tucking into it. The only person who could eat as much as himself, was her. He leaned against the table, lightly rubbing his chin in thought.

“I uh...had a question, if I may.”

“Go ahead, I’ll answer it while your mother eats.”

Caesar, ignoring the mourning of the potatoes, tried to formulate his thoughts. Caesar always had this habit of rambling when he was confused, often making people think he was giving a speech, rather than actually trying to communicate with someone.

“It’s...about the play. You see, It has some to my attention that someone’s role in my story doesn’t...fit anymore. But I wonder if...having someone else is proper. I feel much more...drive from someone else. But it’s a thought that happened so suddenly, I’m wondering if I’m being impulsive.”

Rose nodded, taking a second to take his words in.

“Honestly? I’d say to stick to your original plan, honey. That way you’re more prepared, you know what to expect, it’s just the smarter move.”

She chuckled as she grabbed a napkin, and wiped her wife’s greasy face.

“But, sometimes you can’t plan things in life. Like me falling for the actress I was writing for. Life is random like that.”

Caesar took one good look at their moment of intimacy, and knew what he had to do. He mumbled a quick moment of thanks, before dashing up the stairs at top speed, nearly tripping over himself. He made it to his room, and got onto his computer, scrolling through the script. Where could he…

“There, right there!”

He quickly yanked a notebook from his backpack, tore out a piece of paper, and started to scribble the seeds of seduction he had planned. He then pulled out his phone, and looked over his notes as JFK picked up the phone.

“Yo, Caesar. What’s goin’ on?”

“My fair fellow! I’ve called because there’s been...a change in the play, regarding the balcony scene. I need your help. We are going to make this a play to remember!”

\-------------------------------------------------

“Vincent, honey, are you almost done?”

“Just one second, Oma!”

Vincent checked himself out in the mirror. He had gotten this white tux for special events, and now seemed as good of a time as any. He didn’t have to attend this event, technically, but he felt like he should, if not to reward Caesar for his clear efforts. He adjusted his bowtie, and stepped out of the room. She clapped her hands as she saw him, pinching his little cheek.

“Oh, my little Vinny! You look SO handsome!”

“You look good too, Oma. You were right to pick purple.”

His Oma had dressed in a dark purple cardigan, a lavender dress, and her favorite set of pearls. She felt her hair, lightly scowling.

“Should I do hat, or no hat?”

“We get front seats, I feel like all your tall hats would block people.”

“Oh, valid point honey. Your principal is going to be there, right?”

“I think so? Seems like it’d be illegal if he didn’t. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I’m just saying, I know he has that robot butler. Handsome little toaster that one is~”

“Oh my god Oma, ew.”

He loved her, and wanted her to be happy, but the idea of her hitting on anyone was...honestly gross (he wasn’t even going to address the fact that it was with a ROBOT) She chuckled at his reaction, clearly amused.

“It’s not my fault he’s cute! Plus he has just the funniest nickname for me! ‘Westly’! Isn’t that just charming?”

“Uh...yeah Oma. Really charming.”

He decided to ignore that for now, offering his arm. Oma always did raise him to be a gentleman, and he tried to stick to it as much as he could. The night air was cool and crisp, and he made sure he helped her avoid every bump and crack on the sidewalk. He usually preferred taking such walks by himself, but lately he had enjoyed walking it with company. He looked around as soon as they got into school, and was surprised to see that there was quite a turn out for this thing. Probably had something to do with the mass text of Catherine’s outfit showing off her tits. He walked her inside the auditorium, and walked to the very front of the seats, surprised to see that their names were on the chairs. He didn’t expect such treatment when Caesar said he’d reserve him sweets, but he appreciated it. Especially since Oma seemed nearly giddy at it, nearly beaming as Vincent sat her down at her own seat.

“Oh, we get our own seats! Look at my baby, getting us the special treatment!”

She lightly patted his hand as she got comfy in her chair. Vincent looked at the hustle and bustle on stage, catching the eye of Caesar. He gave him a light wave, before leaning down, and offering him his hand.

“My dear Oma, please excuse us for a moment, if you please!”

Vincent was yanked out of his seat by the taller boy, and was quickly brought backstage. Caesar had stopped him in front of his paintings, gesturing at them.

“I wanted to say thank you for these! They’re marvelous! It feels as though you captured life itself in your work!”

Vincent chuckled at his obvious overreactions, flattered by the compliments. It wasn’t everyday his work was praised, let alone by someone like Caesar. 

“Thanks, Caesar, a lot.”

“Course. I’m certain I’m satisfied with all the pieces. Completely.”

He took a few steps back, lightly motioning at the ever hidden piece. He spent extra time making it look perfect this morning, and clearly he was eager to see what was so special. Vincent sighed, but there was a smile at the corner of his lips. Vincent walked up to it, and pulled the tarp off. It was the balcony scene. The whiteness of the balcony made it look as though it was marble, rather than paint. The wall of vines looked plentiful and healthy in its greenery, the light looked dimmed, yet slightly illuminated. It was a simple background to accompany the balcony itself, and Vincent could tell Caesar loved it, given the way he sat there, and gawked at it. Vincent shrugged once his gaze finally went to him, a bit flustered under that look.

“You said you were most excited about that scene, so I...put most of my effort into that. Do you like it?”

“Like it?! My magnificent marigold, it’s everything!”

Vincent was suddenly lifted clean off the floor, and pressed right up against his chest. He had been hugged before, but never so suddenly and so openly. Caesar felt...warm. He smelled soft, like a freshly baked loaf of bread. Vincent hesitated, but he found himself sinking into his chest. He was about to hug back in an attempt to keep the sensation, before he was suddenly put back down on the floor. Caesar knelt down to do so, and chose to stay there, clearly wanting to meet his eyes.

“You have done everything perfectly. This play would be nothing without you, and in extension, neither would I.”

Even in his ridiculous, poofy attire and his well brushed hair, Vincent took his words to heart. He shrunk a bit at the gaze, honestly a bit flustered by the flush of praise.

“It’s uh...no problem. It was fun to work on, and I really wanted you to make something great.”

They met each other’s gaze, and Vincent felt his heart pound. It had to be some new form of anxiety, but he just felt like one big bundle of nerves.

“I’m...gonna go back to my Oma now, make sure she’s not jumping on any robots. I’ll be watching you, good luck! Knock them dead!”

“Planning on it!”

Vincent waved back at him as he walked back outside, and hopped down the stage. Oma waved him over, having him sit down. Within a few moments, the lights dimmed, and the play started. Vincent wasn’t a real theatre buff, but he knew he was having a good time. He was sitting here next to his very happy Oma, he was dressed to the nines, he got to see his works on a stage, and he got to enjoy Cesar’s performance. Act after act, Cesar spoke boldly, ambitiously, clearly filled with gusto and love for the scenes. He worked well with Cathrine, though he was pretty sure Juilet never said ‘like, oh my god Romeo’ (though since she was bare cheating it out, it seemed like no one else really seemed to care). He didn’t know how much time he spent sitting there, but it didn’t feel too long. Not when Cesar spoke so passionately of his love, not when his eyes kept meeting his own. They were brief moments of eye contact, but it was somehow enough to make Vincent feel...something. There was something there he just couldn’t pinpoint.

That was then the balcony scene came. The curtains blocked everyone from seeing everyone backstage move and change the scene. That was when he was suddenly grabbed by Gandhi, right out of his seat.

“Gimme a second lady, I’m borrowing him for a minute! We need uh..help backstage!”

“Oh. Well, have fun, Vinny!”

“No Oma w-”

He was suddenly carried off by the other, and he wasn’t happy as he was being dragged yet again backstage. 

“Ghandi what the hell-”

“Look, chill, Vincent. Caesar ASKED me to do this, so just chill!”

Vincent felt his heart constrict in his chest. Caesar had asked him to peel him away from the crowd? What for? Was this some cruel prank? Was Caesar fooling him all along, just how he feared? Gandhi wasn’t much bigger than him, but he managed to keep him still enough to watch the scenes change. Caesar actually made eye contact with him, and the look in his eyes...changed. He looked nervous, he looked worried. What was even happening right now? Caesar cleared his throat as Catherine the great stood up on her balcony.

“But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon that stands before me!”

Vincent didn’t read the book cover to cover, but he knew something was off about that line. Suddenly Catherine was yanked out of her tall tower by JFK.

“Yo, Ponsie! Bimbo flyin’!”

Suddenly he tossed her, just in time for Ponce to catch her. That was when Gandhi hoisted him up the tower, and pushed him towards the balcony. Vincent was suddenly standing there, hundreds of eyes on him, lights blinding his face, and Caesar looking up at him. He was looking at him in a way that no one ever had, looking at him with something that made him feel important. Admiration. Caesar took a step towards the tower, voice still loud and movements still aggregated, but his words were honest as honest could be.

“My soft painter, you inspire me to be. I love the way you create, temptate and liberate. Without you, I have no suns to my flowers, a night without stars. WIthout you, my shoes are barren and empty, just like my heart.”

Caesar’s words were true, they were honest. He climbed up the ladder, granted to him earlier, and climbed his way up to him. He leaned himself at the balcony edge, a rather shy looking grin at his face.

“Could you uh...not push me down, this time? It IS the kiss scene, after all.”

“Wait wait wait...I don’t...what’s happening?”

“A few of the boys decided they wanted to help me. I yearn not for the same golden hair that I was tempted to by before. But I yearn for the artist before me. What is an actor without an artist? A voice without an ear? Me...without you.”

Caesar opened his hands to accept his, but Vincent couldn’t help but look over at Ghandi.

“And you...wanted to help with this?”

“Hey, the original Gandhi was a lover, I kinda get that from him. That, and I totally get to do this.”

Gandhi stuck his hand out the window, making a circle with his thumb and index, and letting his other fingers stick up.

“FUCKING GOT ‘EM!!!”

Vincent ignored the groaning roar of the crowd, to look back at Caesar.

“You...like me? But what about-”

“I have no affection for her anymore. Truth be told, I don’t think she does either. If you’ll have be my sun, I shall bask in your warmth, I shall-”

“God, just shut the hell up, Jules.”

Vincent acted before he could think, and he pressed his lips right onto his, grabbing onto his dumb, poofy collar. It was soft, smooth, and he just now realized what that invisible block was. 

Happiness. For the first time in a very long time, Vincent could say without a shadow of a doubt, that he was happy.

**Author's Note:**

> I need some fucking cake after this shit.


End file.
